


Prominence

by Acnara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Disturbing Themes, Graphic Description of Corpses, Horror, M/M, canon divergence - Snape died before he could reveal that Harry was a horcrux, dark rituals and all that, kinda? i just don´t know how to tag that, trigger warning: maggots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-25 01:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17111621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acnara/pseuds/Acnara
Summary: The Aurors arrive to the Yule ball, their polyjuiced disguises blending into the crowd. Tonight, they will finally capture Lord Voldemort.The Boy Who Lived is not so confident.





	Prominence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolf_of_Lilacs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/gifts).



> Gift for the Tomarry discord server 2018 Secret Santa. Merry Christmas Aubry!! Hope this has enough horror and creepines for you :3. And thank you Red for the beta!

 

 

_White as snow,_

_Black as Ebony,_

_Red as Blood._

 

 

The gala was far more crowded than they had predicted. Every shadowed corner seemed to host little private chats between shady-looking witches and wizards, the stink of dark magic clinging to their clothes. Harry tried his best to conceal the wave of disgust that threatened to twist his face into a frown. The room smelled like sulfur and something ridiculously sweet.

He caught a glimpse of Johnson's disguise —a short, pale man—  from the corner of his eye. The other Auror didn't acknowledge Harry in any way, busy scanning the crowd with a fake bored look. Harry saw the older man toy with the glass of wine in his hands and wondered if he should grab one, too. Blending in more and all. When he had seen Lygda, disguised as a petite brunette with big round glasses, she had been holding some of the candy that sat, tempting, on the numerous tables. He didn't know what the other two aurors on the field were doing, but the fact that Harry hadn't been able to pick them out in the crowd meant they were doing their job.

The Aurors had been sent to find clues about Voldemort's current location.

Harry raised his hand to adjust his glasses. He had insisted upon polyjuicing himself into someone with glasses, knowing that nervous tick of his would be impossible to avoid. One cannot live twenty-five years with glasses and suddenly forget their habits for one night. The goal was to be as natural as possible, so the whole department had spent months trying to find real personas that could fit their very specific needs: mostly unknown, some personal similarities with the auror who was going to impersonate them and, most importantly, _Pureblood._ Bland enough to go unnoticed, but a family name that would grant them an invitation to the Blood Ball if one knew where to ask.

_Blood Ball_ . The first time Harry had heard about it he laughed. The snitch who had given them the information had not been very pleased with auror Potter's reaction, but really? Blood Ball? It just sounded so cheesy. Apparently, he had been the only one who found it funny. Now, looking around, Harry had to fight a smirk. The place looked like your typical, maybe slightly over-the-top Yule Ball. Purebloods were _so_ dramatic.

The doors of the salon opened and closed, a new group of people arriving for the evening. The snow covering their clothes evaporated under the spells heating up the Russian Villa. Harry didn't recognize any of the new arrivals. He had seen Nott's father, around an hour ago, but that was about it for known faces. Not a trace of Voldemort.

Harry's lips twitched in disappointment. Voldemort had been on the run for almost seven years now, but the Ministry had always had some idea of where he was during that time. They couldn't do anything to stop him, nor really point out exactly where he had established himself, but Voldemort was not hard to follow. For three years after he fled, after Harry won over the Elder Wand during the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort had unsuccessfully tried to keep up his cause in Wizarding Britain. Not many people wanted to join when the Ministry was watching so closely, and the fact that Harry was going around telling every single person about how Voldemort had killed his own favored man Severus Snape, a cold-hearted _Avada Kedavra_ to the chest, like a dog, hadn't helped either.

So Voldemort had moved to Europe, where his ideas spread like a plague to anyone willing to listen. He had been building alliances, causing chaos, assassinating high-ranking officials, politicians and Muggles for years. Until one day, he stopped. It had been almost two years now, and Voldemort had gone completely silent. Which was more than fine by Harry, at least in the beginning, right after the… incident. Now, even Kingsley was restless.

And so there Harry was. Some prisoner had name dropped that specific annual party and now five aurors on the field, two as reinforcement, were supposed to see if Lord Voldemort really did show up for this event every year. Fantastic.

Harry actually did take a glass of a clear alcoholic drink when a waiter offered him one. If it was more to drown the voice in his head telling him this operation was useless than to blend in, well. Kingsley didn't have to know the specifics of his character-acting.

He took another quick look around to check for more known faces. He recognized some other pureblood families from abroad, but nothing that screamed evil. Just prejudiced, rich people attending a pretentiously-named Christmas event. He sipped his drink, making a face when the bitter taste burned his throat.

“It is difficult to get used to the taste. Banshee licor is not for everyone, I'm afraid _.”_

Harry turned around so fast he almost dropped what was left of the licor.

A red-headed young man was looking at him. For a second Harry forgot how to breath, an intense sense of hope crawling up his insides, but no. This man had brown eyes, and was far too short. Also, Ron had been dead for three years. The reminder burnt Harry worst than the alcohol had.

“Uhm, yeah. I probably shouldn't have taken it just for the sake of it, then.” He tried to smile back at the stranger. When their eyes met something stilled in the air.

“Oh, I don't know,” the man smiled back, a tint of amusement in his voice “I always found it very helpful. Helps to ease the taste of blood, don't you think?”

His smile was blinding. Harry stared at him. He almost blurted out an _excuse me?_ before he could catch himself. He wasn't supposed to be engaging in conversation. These people were dangerous, dark wizards and summoners. This operation was supposed to observe, find some clues and that's it. But the ginger man was still looking at him, the smile on his lips still fresh and welcoming.

Harry blinked at him. How was he going to play this one?

Harry ruffled up his now dirty blond hair, pretending to be overwhelmed by the simple interaction.

“Blood?” He barked out, nervous laugh included. “I'm kinda new here, you see? I got invited in a convention on uses of dragon eyes a couple months ago.”

Harry shot a watered-down version of his best smile to the stranger.

“My name is Jacob,” he added for good measure, offering his right arm in pureblood custom.

The man looked at his extended arm, amused, before he clasped their arms together.

“Frederick,” he simply said. The knot that had begun to dissolve after he first thought of Ron came back full force. What were the chances, really? All dead Weasleys haunting him in one same night.

He pushed through it. Harry was an auror, damn it. He was not going to screw up and get emotional in the middle of a mission because of some Weasley look-alike twink.

“Frederick.” He repeated, nodding his head.

Frederick smiled at him enthusiastically.

“So, first time? Nice. That explains why you are missing the feast.”

“Missing?” Harry pointedly looked around to the tables filled to the brims with food. “I'm just not that hungry yet. I guess I could get me some—”

“No, I meant the blood feast. The ritual.”

Once again, Harry had to stop himself from saying something stupid. He looked around the room again, making sure he hadn't missed some intrincate ritual in the middle of the crowded room. When he found nothing worth mentioning, he stared back at Fredrick.

“You know, the Yule ritual of rebirth?” the man asked. “Right behind the portraits? It's about to start, if they aren't at it already.”

His smile was pleasant, and Harry couldn't figure out why this man was even talking to him. Was he trying to pick Jacob up? The department had chosen unattractive people specifically so Harry and the rest of the team could blend in. Maybe the guy just had a thing for older men, because Harry couldn't think of many other reasons why this twenty-something man would engage Harry's forty-something disguise in conversation.

Still, an informant was an informant. Harry might be a little weirded out, but a ritual? Of eternal rebirth? He had been very sceptical about Voldemort bothering to show up to a party like he had seen so far, but that ritual? Well, that sounded way more up his prophetic-murderer alley. And yet, Harry was not sure how to proceed. Someone suddenly showing up, with information about a ritual? That sounded suspicious even to him.

“Do you want to have a look?” The mischievous light in Frederick's eyes is what did it for Harry. There was no way the man knew who Harry was. There was no way to tell that he was auror. He made sure at least Johnson had eyes on him before letting the redheaded man lead them through the crowd.

Frederick was quick, the sea of capes and expensive jewels opening up for them and closing as soon as Harry passed. He smelled spicy, a mixture of scents Harry couldn't identify. For a second, upon seeing the big doors leading into the corridors, Harry thought he had messed up and Frederick only wanted to snog him somewhere private. Then they reached the fireplace and Frederick looked back at him. With an almost wicked smile, he touched the darkest spot in the wall _once, twice,_ and he disappeared.

Harry looked around in disbelief. Had no one seen that? His sixth sense, what Remus used to call his Potter luck, screamed that he was jumping head first into a trap. But the people standing around him didn't even bat an eye at Frederick's sudden disappearance. Harry was still questioning himself when a pair of witches walked passed him and touched the wall, disappearing into the fireplace. Still unsure, Harry locked eyes with Johnson, and the man shook his head almost imperceptibly. _Go on._

Well, if Johnson approved of his impulses, who was he to deny himself. Yet, the second he touched the wall, he knew something was not okay.

Maybe it was the horrible stench of blood and rotten meat that did it. Or the darkness.

Frederick was nowhere to be found, but that was the least of Harry's worries right now. The room was small, barely large enough to contain the circle of tall figures that were chanting in some language Harry didn't understand. The room was barely illuminated, only the warm glow of the candles on the floor letting Harry take in the room. The whole place oozed black magic, it curled around Harry's legs and clung to them as though alive. His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, and then he saw them. The corpses.

Floating above the ground, in the middle of the circle, were dead bodies. Corpses in a pretty advanced state of decomposition. Their flesh was pale and bloated, the odor so bad Harry's insides twisted with the overwhelming urge to throw up.

Harry stepped back in reflex, his cover momentarily forgotten. He tried to find the wall behind him and someone circled his waist from behind.

There was a voice in his ear, amused.

“Leaving so soon, _Potter?”_

His whole body tensed up. _Potter._ His heart broke into a wild pulse. How in the bloody hell had he been recognized? No one from outside the mission had any idea how the Aurors were disguised. Did they have a spy in the mission? A snitch of their own? The body behind him smelled spicy.

“Frederick?” Harry asked, trying to stick to his bashful, shy persona. His voice cracked, which was good for his character but not entirely planned. “What in Merlin's beard is this?”

The voice made a disappointed sound against his hair.

“I thought you would recognize me. I truly did. Pity.” there were nails digging on his sides, and a face he did recognize smiled at him from behind his shoulder.

Oh. _Oh._

_“You_.” he spat, throwing caution out the window. The world around them disappeared. Harry could only see red, pure anger filling his veins. He tried to free himself from Antonin Dolohov's hands but the tip of a wand against his ribs, burning hot, made him stop moving. Of course. Just why not. If Voldemort was really around, of course some of his most wanted Death Eaters would be, too.

Harry hadn't seen him since he had killed Remus in the Battle of Hogwarts.

The nails biting his skin dug deeper and, just as Harry reached for his wand, his wrist got twisted behind his back. He was about to scream when Dolohov spoke again, low.

“Number sixteen, Tristan Avenue.” Harry froze. “Second floor, door B.”

That was Hermione's apartament.

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

“ _What?”_ His head was spinning. There was no way the Death Eater could know that address.

Since Ron's death, every friend of Harry's had been under Ministry protection, the closest thing to a full on Fidelius Charm Harry had been able to convince them to get. Their _homes_ were supposed to be secret, protected.

“You wouldn't want me to pay your Mudblood a visit, would you Harry? Or the Longbottom child.” Dolohov’s laugh was cruel, the twist of Harry's arm growing a bit more painful. “Bella would gladly finish up what she started.”

Bellatrix Lestrange. That mad witch had escaped the Battle of Hogwarts, too. The price for her head was not nearly high enough after all the horror she had caused.

“Where is she?” Harry growled. He had been close to catching her a couple of times after he was appointed auror, but the evil woman always managed to crawl back into her master's hiding place before she could be properly handled. It was maddening.

“Not here. We guessed you wouldn't appreciate her presence in our little party. Now, _behave_.”

_You are crazy if you think—_

But Harry noticed how the chanting voices died down, and the dark figures, _seven,_ he told himself, _seven robed wizards_ , turned to look at them. All of them hiding their faces under silver masks.

More of a trap than he had previously thought. Nice.

When his scar started pulsating, he knew. The shadows from the back of the room curled and bent, forming a dark figure, distorted around the edges. Harry could feel Dolohov's smile against his hair.

“Say hi, Harry. You kept him waiting for so long he had to send me out looking for you.”

When the figured stepped into the light, the red glow illuminating the room, his serpentine features were impossible to mistake.

“Harry.” Lord Voldemort almost purred, his lipless mouth resembling a newly opened wound when they stretched in a smile. His eyes were hungry, as they always were when they studied Harry's face

“Finally. Nice to see you did receive our invitation, after all.”

Harry drank him up, to his own disgust. He hadn't seen the man in years, yet his toes curled and his heart skipped a beat. He caught himself trying to see if anything in the Dark Lord's face was different than he remembered, and shook his head, angry.

_Get a grip, Potter._

Harry's mind was working at full speed. The snitch must had been a trap since the very beginning. How the witch had been able to lie to the Ministry's occlumency division he didn't know, but judging by the nasty smiles on the robed figures looking at him, they _had_ been waiting for them. For him. They had a rat in the department. The security protocols had been broken. The twist of his arm got even tighter and Harry let out a small painful sound. _Answer_ , Dolohov seemed to be saying. Voldemort was looking at him, in silence. His eyes were shining, and Harry wondered if he was trying to memorize his face, too.

“Fuck you.” He spat. He _actually_ spat, directly at Voldemort's feet. That turned some of the smiles, but not Voldemort's. Of course not.

“Oh, Harry.” He laughed, and Harry felt his unfortunate choice of words burn his tongue. Merlin. “Always so polite.”

A faint memory tried to push him into a sea of embarrassment and self pity, _again,_ but Harry pressed his lips together and raged in silence. It had been years since that happened, anyway. Still, he couldn't stop the blush spreading over his cheeks.

Leave it to Voldemort to _never_ let _that_ go.

“You wanted me here? Well, here I am.” The smile on Voldemort's face was cold. Harry hated him, yet he didn't. Something inside of him was out of breath, static at being so close to the Dark Lord again. “Now what?”

Of course,   again his choice of words was unfortunate. He even sounded eager, for fuck’s sake. The heat on his face grew, and Harry just knew everyone could notice his agitation. He was bizarrely glad to see Voldemort, after years of not having a clue of where he was. After that one time that stood as a physical sign of just how fucked up Harry really was.

He had spent years fighting Voldemort. Years learning his mind, his ideas, his very self. Trying to defeat him. And so had Voldemort. Until, after Ron's death, their mutual obsession had exploded. It had been, no doubt, Harry's lowest moment in his life.

Leave it to Harry to fall in bed with a murderer in the middle of a war and instead of doing the sensible thing, like getting a therapist, entangle himself even more in whatever weird obsession he had with the demon.

Just leave it to Harry.

The Dark Lord curled his fingers around his robes with a smug expression. As if he could read Harry's thoughts, he swirled his wrist. The floating corpses were cast aside.

“I missed you too, Harry.” The Death Eaters laughed, even though they surely had no idea what their dear leader was teasing Harry about. They were just content with seen him being mocked.

He couldn't remember anything in his training that would have prepared him for _this._ Usually people didn't hook up with enemies of their country and then face them again in horrible torture chambers. Or whatever this place was.

So he just decided that getting all the information possible was the only way to turn this conversation away from that one time Harry had been an emotional mess, and Voldemort had actually let him fuck him.

“How do you know where Hermione lives?”

The Death Eaters laughed again, Dolohov especially loud. His grip on Harry grew even tighter. Voldemort raised a hand, demanding silence. His head tilted a bit, a curious glint on his eyes. Harry had never been subtle, and Voldemort had not missed how quickly he had turned the conversation around.

“Lord Voldemort has his ways. I won't hurt them, if you do one small favor to me, Harry.” His voice was deceptively sweet, and Harry didn't believe a single word. Voldemort didn't have any trouble hurting anyone. And his word, to Harry, wasn't worth much. And yet, what could he do? He needed to know how he had gotten past the securities of the Ministry, to warn Kingsley. To warn his friends.

“What favour?”

“Participate in this ritual. And when we are done, you are free to go. Tell your little friends to change locations. Periodically.” The glint in his eye turned cruel in between breaths. “After all, not even a fidelius can keep lord Voldemort away for long, can it?”

Harry's stomach turned. He swallowed his rage, biting his cheek almost hard enough to draw blood. It couldn't be that easy. Nothing was, with the Dark Lord.

“I'm not killing anyone for you,” he said, eyeing the corpses floating around the room. Dolohov made a warning noise behind him at his tone. “And it looks like you are mostly done here, anyway.”

Lord Voldemort's eyes were fire red on his.

“Hardly. You haven't seen anything yet. Look.”

With a flick of his hand, the room was swallowed up in dark magic. The Death Eaters turned from him, and started chanting again. Dolohov, his wand still pressed dangerously against Harry's side, joined them.

And Harry looked. And he _saw._

The wizards were singing, and, as the song advanced, the first of the corpses floating towards the ceiling started to convulse. It looked as if the body was choking, coughing something out of his rotten lungs. It moved erratically, almost violently, and then it opened its eyes. They were black, bottomless. A broken scream echoed around the room when the dead body opened its mouth.

_Inferi_ , Harry thought, feeling bile climbing up his throat.

Voldemort didn't even take a look at the howling monster in front of him. He signaled one of the figures in the circle. Harry didn't recognize the tall Death Eater that stepped into the circle, wearing a blood-red tunic. His eyes were fixed on the horrible magic being performed in front of him, the dead woman that the corpses had once been fighting with herself. Her skin was grey and putrid, her mouth a black hole. The red figure approached her, a knife in his hand. With a swift move, the figure stabbed the corpse's chest.

The scream was terrible. Dissonant and broken, agonizing. Harry tried to take his eyes from the scene, but the pale hand of Antonin Dolohov grabbed his jaw hard enough to bruise.

“Look,” he whispered, “look at his power, Potter.”

He didn't want to. The scene was grotesque, macabre. The sounds of the knife as it tore the woman's ribcage apart, the sound of her ribs breaking and her organs been pushed around made him want to vomit. He was dizzy from the strong smell of iron. And the blood was everywhere. It clung to the Death Eaters’ clothes and spilled slowly under the still-screaming, still-moving woman. It was dense. Old.

The red figure finally presented the open torso of the monster to the room. Harry could see her insides pulsating weakly, the woman’s hands trying to reach the face of her torturer. The Death Eater joined the chorus of chanting voices and slowly, started to carve out the inferi's heart.

He stood up, ignoring the screams and sobs of the woman —who was not dead, not any more— Harry thought with a shiver. The almost-black heart was resting on his blood-dripping hands. He presented it. To the group. To Voldemort. He took a couple of steps towards Harry, and all eyes turned to him. Behind bone-white masks, the Death Eaters smiled at Harry, as the man with the bleeding heart took another step. Presenting the dark red, pulsing thing, to Harry.

A nauseating idea started to form in his mind.

“Wait! Wait that's not...I—I this is not what—”

Lord Voldemort was right there in the blink of an eye, a hand tight in his hair and a mad light in his eyes.

“Come on Harry, _open up,”_ he hissed, Parseltongue spilling out of his mouth like a curse.

Dolohov janked his jaw downwards, and Harry's tongue was full of the rotten flesh.

He tried to move, but his body felt frozen in place.

He couldn't breathe, his lungs drowning in the fetid smell. The Death Eaters must have cast some sort of spell on him, for he was sure he would have vomited long ago if he could. His jaw was forced up, and he found himself chewing the heart as his eyes started to fill with tears. There was something moving against his tongue, and Harry had to wonder if he was chewing maggots, too. Something was moving around his mouth, _crawling._ He gagged, and more of the decomposing heart was forced into his mouth. The viscous blood, cold as ice, started to run down his throat and shirt.

Just as his lungs seemed to be about to burst, he swallowed.

And then it all started again.

Voldemort was right there, a quiet whisper against his ear.

“I have been researching a lot since our last meeting, Harry Potter,” he said, quiet as a breath. “You are even more special than I thought, aren't you?”

Harry didn't understand what he was talking about, busy with the heart been pushed down his throat. The inferi was still screaming, as if every time Harry's jaw was forced into another bite she could feel it. In the corner of his eye Harry could see Voldemort's blood-red, glowing eyes. Staring at him in glee.

“Very good… this will keep you nice and safe.”

Safe? Harry couldn't even breath. He didn't know what was going on. He felt fingers pressed against his lips, and he sobbed, grateful. It was over.

He swallowed once again, his throat burning, the little maggots still moving across his tongue. The inferi was sobbing, her torn body spasming on the ground. Dolohov laughed.

“Welcome to the Death Eaters, Harry Potter”.

Voldemort's smile was terrible. Filled with something dark Harry couldn't identify. The Dark Lord detangled his fingers from Harry's hair and brushed his bloodstained lips.

“Blood looks good on you, Harry.” Harry's eyes teared up again. His body was starting to feel cold, and he was awfully tired. He wanted to sleep for the next twelve years. He was trembling, badly, and couldn't stop himself.

The white fingers flickered over his lips once more before Voldemort let him go. Harry's face was too heavy for him to hold it up.

“Magnificent. _Next._ ” 

Harry's eyes opened in panic, and when he raised his head he could see the next corpse staring to fall from the ceiling.

He tried to fight, but Dolohov forced his jaw open once again.

“ _We are not done yet.”_ the Dark Lord smiled down at Harry.

 

Outside, snow fell.

 

 

 

_**Prominence**_

/ˈprɒmɪnəns/

_noun_

The state of being important, famous, or noticeable. 

_"He **came into prominence**  with blood on his lips."_


End file.
